


The Matter at Hand

by bees_stories



Series: The Matter Series [1]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: First Time, M/M, healing touch, priapism, science made them do it, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When one of Sherlock's experiments blows up, it has an unintended consequence that requires John's healing touch.</p><p>This story is followed by "A Matter of Reciprocity".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Matter at Hand

***

"All right, Sherlock. I'm here." John looked at him with a displeased expression which probably meant... Well whatever it meant, that was irrelevant. "What was so important that you had to drag me away from my date?"

Sherlock shuffled his bare feet against the floor and felt an unaccustomed flush of embarrassment heat his cheeks. The entire situation was quite unacceptable. He really was going to have to install a new lock to prevent ill timed interruptions in the future. 

"I need your help." He forced his gaze up to meet John's. "Your medical help."

John's expression shifted from annoyed to concerned in the blink of an eye. His gaze raked from the top of Sherlock's head down to his feet and then it became puzzled. Overtly, there was nothing to see. That was, of course, until Sherlock opened his dressing gown. John's jaw dropped. He stared in a most unprofessional manner, and then raised his hand to shield his face as he looked away. 

"I was working on a chemical experiment," Sherlock explained hastily before John could bolt from the room. "Mrs Hudson walked in and interrupted me at a critical moment. The solution overheated and this was the result."

"What were you doing?" John stammered. "Trying to reinvent Viagra?" 

Sherlock saw a glint of humour spark and die as their gaze met and then John's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He had to suppress a sigh. Despite having clearly stating he had no romantic intentions when they'd first set up house, it was possible that John thought he'd changed his mind and this was a clumsy seduction attempt. Sherlock really didn't have time to correct his friend's misconception. The erection that had resulted from his mishap was growing quite painful. Something needed to be done about it and soon. 

"John, please. Whatever you're thinking, I assure you, it's not true. I need your medical expertise. Nothing more. For the love of God, help me." 

Sherlock watched John filled his lungs and let the breath out again. He could almost visualise the effort his friend was making to push away whatever doubts he was harbouring. John's features fell into professional lines and he asked, "Have you tried … " He curled his fingers and flexed and extended his wrist three times before his composure failed. His mouth twitched and he burst out laughing. "Sorry! Sorry!" 

"John!" Irritation made Sherlock's voice quite sharp, even to his own ears. 

"Right. Sorry!" he said again. His mouth twitched, but gradually John sobered. "Well? Did you?" 

Sherlock looked away. The entire experience was completely humiliating.

"I tried. It felt … uncomfortable... I chose not to continue." 

"Uncomfortable." There was a strange, flat inflection to John's voice that only seemed to make matters worse. "Sherlock, I don't mean to pry …" 

"Then by all means, John, don't." 

"Fine. I don't really want to discuss your sex life. How long ago did this accident happen?"

"It had been three hours when I texted you." 

"And you've been like that the entire time?" John's expression became concerned. "We need to get you to Casualty. They can give you something. And if that doesn't work there's a procedure – " 

"No. Absolutely not." Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest. There was no way he was going anywhere in the state he was in. "Think of what the paparazzi would do with a story like this."

John let out a sigh. "Yeah. Good point." He looked distinctly unhappy as he said, "We can't let you stay like that. A prolonged erection can cause permanent nerve and blood vessel damage." 

"It hurts." Admitting a weakness was nearly as painful as the throbbing in his groin, but Sherlock was acutely distressed, and it was getting worse with every passing minute. 

John seemed to make up his mind. He went to the door and locked it, and then said, "We better go some place more comfortable. Your room or mine?" 

Sherlock didn't really see the point of moving. Surely John could do whatever he needed to where they were.

John seemed to read his mind. "Someone will walk in on us. Probably one of your brother's minions. Do you really want that?" He paused for a beat and then nodded his head once, very firmly. "Come on, Sherlock, upstairs to mine." 

They climbed the flight of stairs to John's bedroom. For such a short journey it seemed to take a prolonged amount of time. John kept sneaking glances at him. His colour was much higher than normal, and his Adam's apple repeatedly bobbed in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. When they reached the doorway, John ushered him in with a wave of his arm. "On the bed. Face up."

The room had been recently tidied, and the bed made. John's clean laundry sat stacked on a chair, waiting to be put away. Sherlock catalogued the details automatically, as he did everything. The bedding smelled of fabric softener, but the pillow smelt ever so slightly of John. 

John opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle. He placed it and a packet of tissues close to hand. Sherlock eyed the items curiously. The label on the bottle said it was self warming personal lubricant. He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, not that John would have heard him. He'd retreated to the bathroom.

The sound of water flowing from the tap, running down the sink, and shutting off again filtered out of the open doorway. "I don't have any gloves," John said. He sounded apologetic. "You've used them all. I'm going to have to check you over." 

"Fine." Sherlock settled against the pillows and closed his eyes. The mattress dipped as John sat next to him. 

John's hands were warm and still slightly damp as he began his examination. His touch was light and impersonal. He was trying very hard to be as circumspect as possible considering the intimacy of the situation. Intellectually Sherlock understood, but John's gentle caress felt absolutely wonderful. He wanted to sigh in contentment and lean into the contact, but he did neither. 

"I don't think you've done any permanent damage." John straightened. He tipped his head towards the tissues and lubricant. "Just have at and you can put this mess behind you." 

Sherlock reached forward and stopped John from getting off the bed "I can't. I tried."

John was staring again, this time with disbelief. "You can't or you won't? I know you can be bone idle at times, Sherlock, but I'm not going to wank you just because you can't be bothered to get your hand sticky." 

Humiliation was a sensation that Sherlock was accustomed to generating in others. It was not one he was used to experiencing for himself. He wanted, in that moment, to sink into the bed and disappear. He forced himself to look John in the face. "I can't. I did try, John. Honestly. The compound I was exposed to has the curious side effect of making my own touch painful. But not so painful that it diminishes my … problem. I really do need your help." 

John met his eyes. Sherlock could feel his gaze boring down, searching for clues that he was being lied to. "John, please. Don't make me beg you." 

"This doesn't change things between us," John said at last. "I want you to know that." 

The sound of the plastic lid snapping open was a profound relief. Sherlock settled against the pillows again. He watched as John poured a pool of lubricant into his palm and let it warm before spreading it over his hand. He watched John inhale through his nose, filling his lungs and calming the tremor that jumped in his cheek. He watched as John curled his fist around the hardened flesh that throbbed against his belly and then closed his eyes against a wash of pleasure as John's hand began to work his shaft.

Sherlock's jaw fell open and he moaned. The sound was low and animal. He had no idea he was capable of making such a noise, but in that moment he didn't care. 

John hesitated. His grip loosened. Sherlock reached out and grabbed John's wrist, curling his own fingers around John's and holding his hand in place until his slick, warm palm began to move again. 

The almost too tight pressure was perfect. The relentless motion, up over the glans and down his shaft, sublime. Sherlock moaned again and fisted the duvet. Sweat broke out in beads along his forehead. He felt it dampen his back as he tensed. His toes curled into the mattress as his senses overloaded.

"John!" 

Impossibly, every nerve ending in his body fired simultaneously. Sparks flew behind his tightly shut eyelids. His breathing stuttered, he was forced to pant and gasp for oxygen as ejaculate spattered hot against his chest. 

And then it was over. 

Sherlock opened his eyes. John was looking down on him. There was an expression he couldn't quite interpret pulling his only friend's face into unaccustomed lines. 

"Better?" John asked softly. 

Sherlock summoned what strength he had left to nod. "Thank you." 

"I'll just leave you to collect yourself and clean up." 

John took several tissues from the box and wiped his hands clean. He took several more and dropped them helpfully on Sherlock's chest before he rose from the bed and walked out of the room.

Sherlock dabbed at the semen that streaked his body and then contemplated the used tissue. He knew that John was wrong. Things would change between them. They already had.

end


End file.
